


Definition

by domesticadventures



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Asexual Sam Winchester, Fluff, M/M, 中文翻译 | Translation in Chinese
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 15:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/domesticadventures/pseuds/domesticadventures
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sastiel, Samstiel, he thinks. Samcas?</p><p>It’s becoming a problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Definition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [propinquitous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/propinquitous/gifts).



> Also available in Chinese [here](http://weibo.com/p/1001603839476299341029) (no registration required) and [here](http://www.movietvslash.com/thread-163445-1-1.html) (registration required) thanks to [Carmine_Plum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmine_Plum/pseuds/Carmine_Plum) and their friend!

“Sastiel?” Sam says, half joking, except then he can’t stop thinking about it.

Sam remembers how he didn’t miss his mom until he met her, how all it took was for her to touch his face and say his name and now there is a space in him that aches for her, always.

Watching the play had been kind of like that. He’d stood in the wings, watching the young actors playing Cas and himself, and thought that something was missing, had wondered: Where are the moments where I stood in awe of him? Where is his change of heart, the switch from _Sam is an abomination_ to _Sam is my friend?_ Where is _I’d die for him_ and _I heard your call_ , where is the complexity between us, the understanding that good intentions can lead you down dark paths, but never so far you can’t find the light again?

Sastiel, Samstiel, he thinks. Samcas?

It’s becoming a problem.

\--

The next time they hug, Sam holds on long enough that even Cas can tell something is off.

“Sam?” he asks, without trying to pull away, and that’s when it all comes spilling out, every last thought Sam has had on the subject the past few weeks, even down to the silly names that could define them as a unit.

So that’s where Dean finds them, hours later: sitting in the kitchen, discussing, of all things, their freaking “ship name.”

“I like ‘Samcas’,” Cas is saying. “Three letters for each of us. Equal.”

“What about ‘Cassam’?” Sam suggests. “Alphabetical order.”

“‘Cassam’ sounds like a cheesy comics book sound effect,” Dean says, because he _could_ make fun of them, but he’d prefer to tease them affectionately. Hey, if they’re happy, he’s not gonna ruin it. “Or maybe like a bad 90s movie starring Shaquille O’Neal,” he adds, helpfully.

“Thanks for the expert opinion, Dean,” Sam says, at the same moment Cas says, “I don’t understand that reference.” They even manage to roll their eyes in sync.

Dean scoffs in mock offense. “Maybe ‘Sassy’ would be more appropriate.”

“Shut up,” Sam says, but even Cas is grinning.

\--

It takes Sam a long time to get used to sleeping next to someone again.

He apologizes for it, at first, for flinching away without meaning to, for accidentally kicking and pushing Cas away in his sleep, for waking up nearly falling off the bed with all the covers wrapped around himself, for all the things about himself he can’t control, until Cas finally interrupts him one morning.

“Sam,” Cas says, the gravity of his tone somewhat undermined by his ridiculous bedhead. “It’s all right. You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

That’s the thing about Cas: he’s never really gotten the hang of saying things are all right when they aren’t. He really is okay with it, Sam discovers, if they simply lay in the same bed without touching. He’s okay with it when they hold hands, when they tangle their feet together, when they lean against one another. He’s lived for millions of years. He can wait for Sam to acclimate.

So it’s a little bit of a shock when Sam wakes up one day completely tangled up with Cas, drooling a little on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says as soon as Sam is conscious, shifting in place as though to begin extricating himself. “You looked so peaceful, I--”

“No,” Sam says. “It’s okay. This is nice. Don’t get up yet.” Cas is happy to oblige.

This feels good, Sam thinks. It feels like a victory. It feels like something in him is starting to relax.

His brain, of course, has other plans.

He thinks of sleeping _with_ someone again, then, and his heart races.

\--

Sam puts up with an entire week of waking up before his alarm, heart pounding, before he works up the nerve to talk to Cas about it.

He feels like -- no, he knows something fundamental has changed about him since his time in hell. Not just because of what happened to him in the cage, either, but also because of who he became above ground when his soul was still below; that profound violation that occurred in both directions, that trauma so deep it literally came back to haunt him.

He’s researched it, of course, spent hours and hours looking through wiki pages and news articles and post after post after post from people who have been through all sorts of horrific experiences. He tries to find something analogous, find a label that fits just right, and comes up short. He wonders, how do I explain this to Cas if I can’t even figure out how to explain it to myself?

He tries his best, anyway. He says, “Look, what happened to me isn’t something I can just forget, and if you’re hoping for me to jump into this feet first…” He trails off, starts again. “I mean, if you’re hoping for something like you had with, um…”

Sam looks up from his hands to Cas, helplessly, but Cas is just smiling in that soft way he has. “It’s all right,” Cas says, like he understands, even though Sam hasn’t really explained himself at all.

Sam thinks: How stupid. He saved me from the aftereffects, took on my hallucinations. If anyone could understand, it would be Cas.

He gets the impression Cas would have understood, anyway, though, would have been cool with it -- with _him_ \-- regardless.

So when Cas says, “Nothing is more important than you,” Sam believes it.

Cas opens his arms, then, like an invitation. A choice. No pressure. Love without conditions.

Sam steps forward.

\--

Sam flops himself down on top of Cas one day like the friendly giant he is.

Sam is expecting Cas to grumble at him, but instead Cas starts massaging his shoulders, running his hands through Sam’s hair. It feels so amazingly good and is so damn relaxing that Sam accidentally falls asleep like that, sprawled all over Cas on top of the covers.

Sam wakes up to Cas poking him in the side rather mercilessly. “Five more minutes,” he mumbles.

Cas does grumble, then. “Sam, it’s been over eight hours,” he says. “I need to urinate. It is becoming quite urgent.”

Dean pokes his head in the door at the sound of Sam’s laughter. Cas stares up at him imploringly.

Dean grins. “Finally that octopus is your problem,” he says, affectionately.

Cas doesn’t seem exceedingly troubled by the thought.

\--

It worries Cas, sometimes, how fragile humans are, how powerless he’s become.

“How do you stand feeling so vulnerable all the time?” he asks one day.

Sam is still trying to figure that out himself, so rather than trying to work up an answer on the spot, he wraps Cas up in a hug, instead. “How about now?” he asks.

Cas is surprised to find he feels very safe and warm all of a sudden.

\--

Sam is the little spoon, sometimes.

“It’s called jetpacking,” he explains, “when the shorter person is the big spoon.”

“Well, humans have always tried to reach for the stars,” Cas says.

Sam’s laughter shakes the whole bed. Cas’ laugh is more contained, a huff of breath against Sam’s neck.

His very own star, alive and warm and _there_.

\--

They’re digging through lore together in the library one day when Cas leans over to press a kiss to the top of Sam’s head.

“Mmm,” Cas says. “You smell good. Like books.”

“Old books or new books?” Sam asks.

Cas thinks for a moment before he says, decisively, “Well-loved books.”

\--

They turn birthdays and holidays into a friendly book-buying competition.

The books become increasingly elaborate and rare as they try to one up each other. Cas is pretty sure he’s won when Sam unwraps a birthday present to find pages and pages of tattered papyrus.

“Cas, what...what is this?” Sam asks.

Cas does his best not to look smug. “Pages from the book of Isaiah,” he says. “The _original_ pages.”

The extent of Sam’s response is “How even.”

Cas just shrugs. “I pulled some strings.”

At Christmas, though, Sam produces a hand-bound book with the explanation that “this is a record of everything you ever said to me that helped me start believing in myself again.”

Cas begrudgingly admits defeat.

\--

This is how their entire relationship will be; these small moments of gentle affection, of casual intimacy.

There was a time when Sam used to wonder: Is this all there is?

Nowadays, he thinks: This is more than enough.

 


End file.
